


Five times J.D. didn't understand (and the one time he finally did)

by sebviathan



Series: Untold Janitor Story [2]
Category: Scrubs
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Canon-Compliant, M/M, Mental Illness, janitor's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:19:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The intern's name is John Michael Dorian, better known as J.D., and the janitor can only assume that he's an idiot. Otherwise he'd realize that he's been flirting with him for the past couple months. As each day passes, the janitor has no choice but to act meaner and meaner to get his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times J.D. didn't understand (and the one time he finally did)

1.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of copper. The janitor silently commends his supernatural senses and glances to catch said copper fall, conveniently land deftly enough on its side to roll another foot, right into the empty space of the sliding door. His thought process wavers into the possibility that the penny had a mind of its own to land there, but before he can latch onto the idea he looks up and sees the source of the penny.

He's one of the cutest men he's ever seen. Feminine features, but oddly enough a particularly large adam's apple. And stupid hair, but the janitor wants to grab it—and yank it right off of his head ( _stop it with the violent thoughts, I don't want that_ ).

The new intern (the janitor figures, since he's never seen him before and it's the first day for interns) hesitates in his tracks, and his eyes seem to follow the penny as well. Just for a moment, to notice how odd it is that it would get stuck in the door like that, and then he's walking past the doorframe.

He briefly and impassively catches the janitor's gaze, then keeps walking. For a moment, it makes him irrationally angry that the intern didn't give him the time of day.

The next day, one of the orderlies lets him know that one of the sliding doors is broken, and  _whodathunk_ , it's the same one the penny rolled into.

He believes it's fate that brings that very same intern to the door while he's trying to get the penny out—the janitor catches his reflection in the door, just standing there, and he accidentally seems to intimidate the crap out of him when he turns around.

"Oh—I'm waiting for someone."  _Jesus, even his voice is cute._

The janitor nods, and then he gets an idea.

"The door is broke—probably the fifth time or so, it don't open."

Just as he expected, the intern is smart enough to realize that it's his own fault, and there's a very short glint of fear in his eyes. Likely due to the janitor's scary demeanor.

"Maybe there's a penny stuck in there...?"

Oh good, now he's on the way to admitting it, and then the janitor can forgive him, tell him it's no problem, and they can be friends. Maybe (hopefully) closer.

"Why a penny?"

"...I—I don't know."

"Did you stick a penny in there?"

"No, I was just making small talk—"

"If I find a penny in there," the janitor starts, making a point of reaching out and poking the intern's chin with his screwdriver, "I'm taking you down."

He gulps, and gets away as quickly as possible. The janitor decides he'll give him the week to confess, feeling oddly confident that he will. What he wants is attention and he always gets what he wants, so.

Days pass, the penny gets unstuck, and the janitor purposely finds ways to be where the intern will notice him and possibly pluck up the courage to come say "I apologize, 'twas I who dropped the penny in the door." Or something.

But the janitor is wrong this time, and the intern doesn't, not even when he shows him the penny. The guy just looks scared and avoids him.

Why can't he just apologize?

Oh, well. Now the janitor only has one other option to get his attention.

* * *

 2.

 

The intern's name is John Michael Dorian, better known as J.D., and the janitor can only assume that he's an idiot. Otherwise he'd realize that he's been flirting with him for the past couple months. As each day passes, the janitor has no choice but to act meaner and meaner to get his attention.

"Why not invite him out to do something?" one of his nameless drinking-buddies (as in, he never bothered to learn the guy's name) suggests. "Like to a sports game or a movie."

That makes enough sense, and the janitor thinks it should get the point across. Bother him like usual, invite him to a baseball game—it makes his intentions clear and allows J.D. to start associating his pranks with those intentions. Two birds with one stone, as they say.

But the stupid intern rejects him before he can even take out the tickets, and once again he's left with no choice. He guesses he'll just sell one ticket and go alone.

J.D. probably just doesn't think much of him since he's  _the help_. Of course he doesn't—why would he? He's a doctor, they're all like that. Which is why the janitor will have to try even harder.

"I don't get it, I've done everything," he says for what feels like the thousandth time—not out drinking, this time, but at a cafe. He's sitting down with a stranger whom he's trapped in a conversation about J.D.

The other man seems rather frazzled, though too invested in the story, now, to just tell him to leave. That, and too intimidated by his stature.

"Have you tried just... being nice?" he offers.

The janitor frowns, unintentionally making himself look considerably meaner. "What good would that do? I give him twice—nah, probably three, four times the amount of attention I give _anyone_  else in the hospital. By far. And he's just rejecting all my advances."

He proceeds to pull out a flask and pour the remaining  _whatever_  (he doesn't remember, but it's clear) into his coffee. The stranger looks briefly shocked but is clearly too afraid to comment.

"Well..." the stranger eventually says, as the janitor is glaring heavily in wait for a response, "um. No offense, but I think you might be taking a sort of... kindergarten approach? I mean—really. No offense. But it's kind of delusional to think he won't react negatively to your bullying, seeing as you're both grown men. Stop being mean and just be straightforward. That'll get his attention."

The janitor raises his eyebrows for just a second as though he's considering it, then frowns in confusion. And then more deeply in frustration. "No, that's crazy. You're crazy."

He downs his alcohol-infused coffee and stands up to leave. Then pauses to frown at the other guy again, and knocks over his cup out of spite. That's the last time he forces strangers to give him advice.

A huge part of him continues to believe that J.D. is simply just like all other doctors—arrogant, too good for a stupid janitor. And it makes him hate himself for making an effort to get a doctor's attention when he's hated them for years. The only thing that keeps him determined is how responsive the intern is to his pranks, even if it's not quite the way he'd like. And he's still nice, no matter what the janitor does. And he's naive, and cute, and inexplicably in the janitor's head  _all the time_ _—_

Maybe that guy was right, and he should just be straightforward. J.D. seems to be a bit socially unaware, so it's probably necessary.

So on the week of Christmas, the janitor volunteers to help put up decorations around Sacred Heart. He strategically places mistletoe everywhere he could reasonably expect J.D. to be, planning to catch him under one of them.

Through the week he does keep finding him, but none of the moments are right. It's either too crowded, or not the right lighting, or J.D. doesn't even notice the mistletoe and the janitor is forced to do something mean to make the interaction normal. He can't do it like that—it has to be perfect. Like the movies.

Finally, though, the perfect moment comes. Well, he  _makes_  the perfect moment. It's an empty hallway and the janitor is finishing up his evening shift, and J.D. is coming back inside to get the jacket he "forgot" (the janitor stole it) when he slips on a conveniently placed puddle of water.

The janitor pretends to only just notice him, and he steps over to hold out the handle of his mop so J.D. can pull himself up. He looks vaguely surprised at the kindness but accepts it.

"Do you ever bother putting out wet floor signs?" he asks breathlessly, still apparently winded from his back hitting the hard tile.

"When I actually feel like doing my job, sometimes," he smirks. Then, before the intern can make a move to walk away, he casually glances upward, lets his eye catch on the mistletoe just long enough that it's noticeable but not weird, and waits for J.D.'s gaze to inevitably follow his. It does, and there's a glint in those doe-eyes, and it's obvious. He noticed.

The janitor purses his lips and J.D. looks mildly scared. That doesn't stop him from dipping down five inches and grabbing his chin and confidently, firmly kissing him on the mouth, as planned and mentally rehearsed. That's about as straightforward as it gets.

It's better than he imagined, though it takes a couple seconds for J.D. to reciprocate. He opens his mouth slightly and deepens it, and his breath is warm on the janitor's lips, which makes his confidence grow—he reaches out with one hand—but his fingertips can only brush J.D.'s cheek for half a second before he pulls away sharply.

"What are you doing?" he says. It's not a romantic, love-drunk whisper like in the movies, but rather a startled demand. Like in the other movies.

At which point the janitor can only stare, straight-faced, and point up to the mistletoe and say, "It's tradition."

J.D. stares back for a moment, holding himself stiffly, then drops his shoulders. And shakes his head slightly. Then walks away to find his jacket.

The janitor remains as he is, not even turning around to watch him go, feeling sadder by the second.

He didn't even get any tongue.

* * *

 3.

 

For a long time, the janitor is angry at J.D. And not like his usual layer of irrational anger towards literally everyone around him, either—but really,  _genuinely_  angry. Oddly enough, though, the rejection is only a small factor.

Added on, there's the way J.D. behaves afterwards. Which is: almost exactly the same as before, as though nothing had even happened. It's infuriating, and the janitor can't believe he would just brush it off like that, like it was just another prank. He's either an asshole or an idiot, which are about equally terrible in the janitor's mind.

However, the worst of it is that he's angry that he still wants attention from him so much. He's deeply annoyed that this fucking prick doctor has to waltz into his life looking like  _that_  and then not understanding what he wants from him.

The anger that comes from his need for attention unconsciously fuels the attention he gives back: He starts rallying up other custodial members to help with his pranks. He puts up a poster of J.D.'s face in the janitor lounge and refers to him as The Enemy, and the pranks get meaner and more serious. Several times, J.D. actually gets physically hurt, and more often than that, the janitor really wants him to. At least to even out the conflicting feelings inside him—he hates himself less. Wanting to be near the guy isn't so bad if he's inflicting some harm in the meantime.

It's a vicious cycle. The angrier he is, the more time he spends around J.D. to mess with him, and the more time he spends around him, the more he likes him. Which in turn makes him hate him again, and ensures the next big prank will be worse.

Oh yeah, there's that. Aside from the typical stuff, the janitor has major Plans now. He gets up early, he makes charts and maps, he coordinates things weeks in advance—he even stalks J.D. from time to time. Adding creativity to the mix keeps him from going crazy.

The moments of actual civility between them are far and few in between once J.D. becomes a second-year resident, rarely lasting more than ten seconds, and ironically even more rarely being anytime other than  _right after_  a Successful Plan.

Rarest of the rare is the one night that the janitor catches him at the bar in the middle of the week (not the one closest to the hospital either, but the one where the janitor goes when he's particularly not in the mood to run into anyone he knows). He's hunched over what appears to be a real drink instead of his usual appletini or even anything that looks remotely fancy. With just the typical slew of jabs in his head, the janitor goes in for the kill.

He comes up on his back right and taps on his left shoulder, making him turn and finding it probably a little too funny. The oldest trick in the book and yet, somehow, it never gets old.

And then, before he even thinks to turn to his right, "Fancy seein' you here, Scooter."

J.D. jumps, almost spilling his drink, and snaps his head around. Judging by how fast it was, he hasn't been drinking for long.

"Did you  _follow_  me here?" he says, and it's smoother than he usually talks. No fear, just anger. It almost makes him unrecognizable. "Because I'm really not in the mood."

"No, you reverse-followed  _me_  here. You're in my spot, you know."

And he's about to pick J.D. up by the armpits to move him but the doctor jerks away from his touch and admits, a bit too loudly, " _A patient DIED on me today_ _—_ God... god  _dammit_ , Janitor, just. I couldn't save a patient and she was just a  _kid_  and can you just leave me the fuck alone for  _one_  night?"

People are staring. Not at J.D., but at him. Like they're ready to kick him out of the bar and ban him forever.

The janitor's standing still and facing forward, just like that night a couple years ago, but now sad in a different way. He stares at J.D. and pays no mind to the bar full of concerned people, and any urges to harass him are gone.

"Hey—"

"Just go away."  
"Let me buy you a drink." His voice is considerably softer, now.

J.D. turns again and frowns, probably about to say that drugging him while he's in this emotional state is a new kind of low (which, honestly,  _had_  popped into his head the moment he saw him at the bar), but the janitor interrupts him.

"Swear on my life, not gonna hurt ya. I'm serious—just one drink, on me, and if you want me to leave just say the word."

After a moment of consideration, he seems to soften.

"Okay."

The janitor hails over the bartender, tells him to mix the strongest, fruitiest drink he can, and earns a small smile from J.D.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks quietly once his new drink is set down in front of him. It's a pretty valid question—the janitor is still trying to figure it out himself.

 _Because you deserve it this time,_  he thinks. "I'm not as evil as I thought I was, I guess."

"Mm." He doesn't sound like he's taking him seriously, but the janitor doesn't try to push it.

As J.D. starts drinking, he mostly stares off into space without talking. The janitor fills the silence by getting a drink for himself—nothing fancy, just plain scotch. The familiar burn going down his throat is more comfortable than this silence, honestly.

Which is weird because half the time he drinks, even in public, it's in silence. He knows it's weird, but he likes being the old guy who sits at the bar all by himself, not too unattractive to give off the vibe that he's lonely, but not attractive enough for anyone to make advances. It adds a layer of mystery that doesn't really matter, but leaves an odd sort of impression.

He'll never be a major part of anyone's life—he won't even be the star of a story people tell their friends once or twice. He won't be that guy who heimliched a cork out of some guy's throat, or that guy who clocked another guy in the face so hard he needed stitches. Or even the guy who got clocked so hard he needed stitches. Well, sometimes he thinks he might end up being the guy who drank himself to death in one night. Or the guy who set the bar on fire.

But no, he'll be the guy that people wonder about, in the back of their minds, for the rest of their life. Every now and then they'll think about that one bar, and the one guy they recognized a few times, just sitting alone, and they'll wonder. Because by simply being there and being himself, he's given them a question they'll never have a resolution to.

Except now they'll have a new question—who is this  _other_  guy and why is the old man's hand on his back? Are they friends? Brothers? Boyfriends? Father and son?

Personally the janitor doesn't mind that the public's perception of him has changed. In some ways they'll wonder more, in others they'll wonder less—but oddly enough, what's important to him now that he's having something that feels like a conventional relationship for once. They're not exactly saying words to each other, but it's something.

"She didn't even know that she was going to die," is the first real thing J.D. says to him, and it's unexpected.  _Jesus, he sounds so fucking sad._  Not  _broken_  sad, but just... in a lot of pain. "I guess that's better than if she did know, but... You know what I said to her? I promised she was gonna make it. I  _promised_ , like it was something simple—something like, like the  _flu_  or something and we were just gonna fucking give her some cough syrup, and I knew I shouldn't have... We're never supposed to do that. All she must have known in her last seconds was that I fucking lied to her—"

His voice reaches a high and cuts off, like he can't breathe, and it seems to be his only choice (other than to let out a loud sob) to just press his face directly into the janitor's upper arm and exhale.

Why J.D. has decided to open up to him like this, he has no idea, but it all feels like something he never could have hoped for. Being treated like an equal, that is. And hearing the cocky doctor he once thought might be be different,  _this_  humbled.

The crying doctor doesn't leave his arm, but rather clings to him, pressing closer, using him as a shield from reality. And he can't really mind—even aside from the fleeting thoughts of what this sort of situation always leads to in movies, he likes being a sudden source of comfort. It's a dizzying contrast to his usual intimidation, and if this is some act of fate to bring them genuinely closer after years of one-sided hostility, then he'll gladly take it.

The janitor's arm is around his back, cheek rested on his head, and mind moments away from enough courage to kiss his hair—and J.D. leans back, still inebriated like hell, leaving a trail of snot sticking to the fabric his face has been pressed to. He wipes it off, but  _holy shit that is disgusting and I clean a hospital for a living_.

"Please leave now."

Aaaaand it's breaking.

"What?" He frowns deeply, but tries not to get too angry too quickly.

"You said one drink, and then I could— _hic_ _—_ say... the word," J.D. slurs. "...I'm— _hic_ _—_ finished with the drink. I wan' you to go."

"You're drunk," he tries to salvage it. "Let me drive you home."

"Mmnope."

That's all he responds, no elaboration. No reassurance that he has another ride coming.

And honestly, the janitor is so hurt that as he tosses a couple bills to the bartender and walks out, he can't bring himself to care whether or not J.D. gets home safely at all.

* * *

 4.

 

As though even his subconscious is trying to force him to get over J.D., the janitor becomes legitimately infatuated with Blonde Doctor. It's funny, actually, that he should develop a crush on the woman that guy's been after for years, because on one side it just seems like he's doing it to spite J.D. Which is good and all. But part of him is really just feeling,  _if I'm going to end up alone, then so will he_.

The janitor's pretty sure that he's the only one who even remembers that night. He figures Black Doctor picked him up at some point and that J.D. just slept it off, no apparent memory of the time that the janitor was really, really Nice to him. Because afterwards he treats him the same as before—with caution but evenly spaced benefit of the doubt. What an idiot.

The layer of hatred has grown stronger, and so has his violent fantasies. Even his actual Plans have grown borderline homicidal, and his mind games have become full-fledged psychological torture. Most acts of civility are part of those mind games, cloaked in a real desire to be civil (if not more), cloaked in more mind games.

They've gotten to the point in their relationship where avoiding him altogether is so outside of the norm that it counts as giving him attention. Even moreso, getting involved with his group of friends and sort of becoming part of it. Not just the crush on Blonde Doctor, but the open respect for Scary Nurse, teasing Black Doctor in place of J.D. himself, and becoming drinking buddies with Mean Doctor.

By his standards, it's the cruelest thing he's ever done. Which he justifies partially by how personally offended J.D. seems about it and otherwise, unlike all of his violent pranks, how little he objectively deserves it.

He just really wants to hurt him.

Time passes, though, and the emotional pain fades into the regular layer of anger. Of course he was officially rejected by Blonde Doctor a while ago, but that's done. Everything finds a consistent pace, and it becomes comforting. Nothing is ever on the verge of changing drastically and that's exactly the way he likes it.

He's alone, and an alcoholic. And he's steadily doing less and less of his actual job. The most important relationship in his life is based on mostly negative feelings. The rest of his relationships are based entirely on intimidation and control. Normal as ever.

After almost six years, even the sexual part of his attraction to J.D. has remained through it all. He doesn't repress it like he does with his actual emotions—in fact, it bothers him the least. Being attracted to men has been something he's known about himself for a long time. He  _prefers_  men, even. And judging by how he's always acted with his best friend, he simply assumed J.D. was, too.

No, the janitor doesn't care. Hell, he embraces it. It means that any time he smiles in the direction of that stupid doctor, he can just blame it on his animal urges. Or at least try to.

It means he doesn't feel the need to try to push back thoughts of J.D. when he jerks off, whether he's at home or on a break at work, not very far from the subject of his fantasies. Which is coincidentally happening more and more often, consistent with the increase in time spent drunk on the job.

It means that when J.D. is finally too nosy for his own good and walks in to the sight of the janitor propped up against the wall of a closet, pants down past his knees, and cock in hand, he barely hesitates to look him in the eye.

Being the socially inept doe that he is, he just stands in the doorway, opening and closing his mouth. He may indeed even be gasping for air in pure shock of the situation—of course, he's seen the janitor's dick before, but not like this. And he can't seem to help glancing down to where his hand is still moving, not disturbed whatsoever at his presence.

After a whole ten seconds where J.D. can't seem to decide what to do, the janitor gives him a gruff ultimatum:

"Either get in or get out—just close the fucking door."

He means it as an offer (and his bedroom eyes should make it obvious enough), but J.D. appears to take it as a threat because he bolts and slams the door immediately.

Disappointing as fuck, but he doesn't let it get to him right away. The janitor comes thinking of what it would have been like if J.D. stayed, and afterward tries to avoid the idea that  _he's not stupid, he's just_ really _not into you._

* * *

 5.

 

The janitor meets a woman. She's quirky but mostly normal, very pretty, and her name is literally  _Lady_ , which is so perfect for his taste in human interaction that it feels like something delivered to him by fate. She even has a brother named  _Him_ , how fun is that?

Especially since the way they meet in the first place is through a shared therapist, whom the janitor talks to mainly about J.D. And whom he only sees in the first place because a recent prank-gone-wrong that resulted in the injury of a different Sacred Heart doctor warrants him being legally required to see one for at least two months.

So coping with the J.D. situation has directly led him here. Buddha really is looking out for him.

Even a beautiful woman (who is actually  _into_  him) essentially being hand-delivered to him doesn't make things simple, though. His interaction with her is jaded, like he becomes an entirely different person. He puts on fronts all the time to mess with people (and to get what he wants), but those are all some kind of version of himself and what he'd like to be. This is just... something he  _has_  to be.

Acting normal for too long is too exhausting, so he avoids personal conversation. He takes her to movies and does anything he can to keep her distracted, and initiates as much physical contact as possible.

Except she doesn't really want that, yet. She only likes open-mouthed kissing in complete privacy, and after a few weeks, she still demands that hands stay above the shirt. Surprisingly, he's okay with that. And he's okay with putting work toward being a different person around her if that's what it takes to keep her.

The first time the janitor is near J.D. and Lady at the same time, an idea springs into his head that, thanks to his therapist, makes him feel guilty for a moment. She can be sympathy bait.

 _One last try,_  he promises himself. He's still not over the doctor, and he knows this will make it worse, but his emotional self-destruction knows no bounds. He's fucking  _ready_.

"What're the flowers for?"

"My girlfriend."

"Pfft. You don't have a girlfriend."

The interaction is predictable. Of course J.D. doesn't believe a man like him could have a girlfriend, which hurts a little, but it's true. He never thought so either.

And of course he doesn't believe that his girlfriend's name is Lady. It all sounds like he's making it up to make himself seem less lonely and more socially involved (and like a dumb excuse from an early 90s movie), which is exactly what he's going for. If anything could possibly make it across to J.D. as flirtatiousness at this point, it's a vague notion that the janitor is trying to impress him.

He waves to his seemingly-fake-but-real girlfriend and hopes for a  _"Jeez, man, are you really that lonely?"_ _—_ but it doesn't come. There's just a laugh before he walks away.

No worries—there's a phase two. The more sensible use for Lady: jealousy bait. If J.D. sees that he's actually happy in a relationship with another person, surely he'll come around and express his distaste. And he'll eventually have to swallow his pride and say why.

When the janitor proves the relationship is real, it's a nice moment of humility for the doctor, and what seems like a possible start to something more. Having recently learned the typical progression of most humans' emotions, he allows time to pass before he considers the plain failed. J.D.'s not going to come to his senses in just a few days.

Or even a week, no matter how many times he sees them kiss and gets gently knocked around (gently by  _his_  standard) like it's the good ol' days.

Or two weeks, or three, or even the month that passes before the janitor decides he actually likes her enough to reveal his true self to her.

Or in the following weeks where the janitor relents and begins taking medication, at Lady's coercion, to regulate his bouts of extreme irrational anger, and subsequently takes it upon himself to fix her fears.

Or the point at which he decides he likes her so much that she can handle the truth about J.D.—about how "Once upon a time I was actually in love with the guy, but didn't know how to handle it. Still kind of am. And I still don't."

Because if he were to come around at that point, it would just be too convenient. Of course his jealousy isn't going to peak at the exact right moment that Lady would be emotionally prepared and the janitor wouldn't feel too bad.

And now, of course, it has to wait until he and Elliot are broken up again for the feelings to come full throttle. Everyone knows he's always more of an idiot when he's with her—but that relationship is like communism. Only makes sense on paper, always doomed in practice; the janitor's sure it'll end and the jealousy will finally come.

It's all stupid, he knows it's stupid. But he can't stop feeling it, and thank Buddha that Lady understands. It's ruining him, though less and less by the day.

* * *

 +1.

 

Married life is great. What's even more great is actually having sex on a regular basis. But really—for the first time since his twenties, he feels like he has someone who not only cares about him, but prioritizes him. He's loved, and he's doted on, and he has someone to  _dote_  on, and for the most part there's nothing complicated about it.

" _For the most part_ " being the operative phrase.

The person you love is supposed to be your first choice, isn't it? That's what everyone says. The janitor really does feel like he loves Lady, but how can he even be sure what love actually feels like? Lady and her family and their shared therapist and pretty much everyone who's worked around him ever agrees that his view on emotions and life in general is pretty warped. Due to a mix of a particularly odd upbringing, the strong imposement of traditional masculinity, and 30+ years of untreated mental illness.

His wife knows everything about him now, though, which means she knows how he experiences emotions. And she willingly married him, which must mean she thinks the way he feels is adequate for an honest marriage.

He's learning how to communicate more, so it's not as though this is going undiscussed. Lady is aware of how afraid he is of not feeling enough toward her, and she always reassures him that she knows love when she sees it.

So she's obviously aware that even into their marriage—even in the middle of their honeymoon—that he's not over It. But she probably wouldn't have married him if she didn't believe that someday he would get to that point, and that's something that actually scares him. It's also one of the only things he refuses to bring up. In the case that she does expect him to someday be a man who has a whole heart to give, he can't let her know that he's afraid to pull the remaining sliver of heart away from a man out of his reach.

His fear of change sure does go a long way.

Now, though, it's all too close and terrifying. J.D. is leaving Sacred Heart and the janitor barely hides how fucking devastated he is.

In the month that remains, all he does is think about the final day. Lady helps him decide how he's going to get closure and what the perfect parting words will be, and subsequently helps him deal with his emotions so he'll be prepared for them.

"Anxiety is normal, you know," she tells him soothingly. It takes several repetitions to convince him. "Hell, even if you genuinely hated him, you'd probably still be anxious. It's a big thing."

It's more than that, though. He sits the way she tells him to and does that breathing exercise, and he takes all his vitamins to ensure that there's no deficiencies causing this. He takes every single piece of advice to throw off the anxiety, and Lady checks up on his emotions every couple hours.

And finally, when nothing proves to help, he thinks he understands exactly what this is.

"What emotion are you having?" she asks on schedule, right before crawling into bed with him.

"I feel like I'm dying."

On the very last day, the janitor is oddly calm. He's been terrified of the end for weeks, and now that it's finally here, it feels like any other day.

It goes almost too well. J.D. admits to dropping the penny, and even though it's essentially a confession to the accidental sabotage of anything and everything good that could have come from them, the janitor doesn't feel angry. He just feels a bit more resolved.

And then,

"Glen Matthews."

He still can't believe that J.D. never asked, not once. Typical doctor arrogance, too good to learn a janitor's name. But it really is behind him now.

Glen smiles—really, genuinely smiles at him, and tells him the story he only ever told Lady before, about how he was a dorky little kid with a lisp who could barely pronounce his own name.  _Gehn Maffoof_. It's one last moment they can share to contradict all the others, something that J.D. can take with him and smile about when he remembers.

And then he says goodbye.

It honest-to-God hurts so bad to watch him walk away, especially knowing that soon enough he's out those doors and that's it.

It's done.

It's over.

_...No it's not._

Suddenly, he refuses. It can't just end like this, he can't let it—that's not  _fair_! A shared moment and a goodbye? What the fuck was he thinking, accepting  _that_  as the end... No, that's not enough. Glen's going to feel incomplete for the rest of his fucking life if he just leaves it like this.

With a burst of adrenaline, he runs in the direction that J.D. left, hoping he can track his footsteps with his janitor sonar or something—or at least get lucky and find him before he leaves the building—

And it appears fate is on his side tonight, because the doctor in question hears his running footsteps and backtracks into his line of sight.

"Jani— _Glen_?"

Oh wow, he actually remembered his name. He looks seriously frightened, though, as the janitor storms toward him, grabs his arm, and hauls him to the nearest supply closet.

"I decided I'm not done with you," he tells him bravely.

"What does that mean—?"

" _Eight years_."

No hesitating this time, no strategy, no tricks—he simply grabs J.D. by either side of his face and kisses him the way he should have under the mistletoe that first Christmas. There's no room for J.D. to think this could possibly be some kind of mind trick, either. Glen's fisting his hair and stepping closer and is much too ready to just take  _everything_  and—

J.D. breaks away to catch his breath, and he doesn't look angry this time. Not even confused. Just... sad. His eyes seem to search Glen's and, without saying anything verbally, he gets his feelings across. They both somehow understand, and agree to kiss again.

They go as deep as they possibly can, and then as soft. And firm and slow and passionate and fiery and all the types of kisses they can think of to make up for the time they lost.

And soon they're just standing, bodies together but faces apart, holding each other and breathing.

"I'm sorry," J.D. mutters into Glen's neck.

"'Bout what?"

"The penny, mostly."

He wants to laugh-they both do-but all he can muster is a soft chuckle.

"Mostly?"

"And for... all this time. You were-"

"Yeah."

"In love with me."

He doesn't need to answer that directly to make it clear. But then he adds,

"Y'know, the reason I didn't want you to be mad on the first day was because I thought you were cute. And then I just thought you were crazy. But still cute."

Both of them have half a mind to scream about how  _unfair_  all of this has been, now. Though mostly Glen.

"...You ever wish we could just start over?"

"I do now," J.D. admits.

"But..."

"It's too late."

Glen's left with nothing to say but another quick word of agreement.

"Yeah."

_Jesus._

_Eight years._

He just resolved it, though.

(Then why does he feel more broken than ever?)

"I'll never forget you, Glen Matthews." J.D. quirks a smile, then reaches up to kiss him on the side of the mouth.

Glen wants to steal another deep kiss, but he resigns to that one being his last. Otherwise he'll probably never let go.

"I'll never forget what we could have had... Doctor John Dorian."

There's a hug, a tight, warm pressure in his chest and around his back, and then release. J.D. doesn't look back once he opens the supply closet door.

The janitor exhales and watches him go for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, jdanitor, the untold tragedy of scrubs.
> 
> I don't think I'm capable of writing anything with a happy ending, honestly. Hell, this would have been less sad if one of them had actually died.
> 
> I also made a jdanitor fanmix that vaguely fits the fic: http://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/for-the-longest-time


End file.
